The Eye of the Beholder
by angelgurl161
Summary: We are not at fault, none of us. The blame lies with our perceptions—that which prejudices us from seeing what is the truth. Some people take minutes to learn this others take lifetimes. For Lily Evans, however, it took a person: James Potter. ...Previ
1. Prologue

**Title:** _The Eye of the Beholder_

**Summary:** _We are not at fault, none of us. The blame lies with our perceptions—that which prejudices us from seeing what is the truth. Some people take minutes to learn this; others take lifetimes. For Lily Evans, however, it took a person: James Potter._

**Disclaimer:** _I don't need to go over this drivel again. This is _obviously_ not my idea; I've stolen it from JK Rowling; I acknowledge and admit that._

**A/N:** So. I need to go over certain things. Yes, I am rewriting this story; this isn't _Opposite Ends of the Spectrum_ anymore. It's _The Eye of the Beholder_. I did this for several reasons, mostly personal ones. The previous version bored me to tears, and I often read it to chase away any symptoms of insomnia (_Exaggeration:_ something I am prone to!), so I figured that I could really just change everything in this. I know some of you will dislike this version; and some will be delighted with it, but I can't help that. I like it. And that's that.

I do, however, apologise for how long it's taken for me to upload a chapter. Sadly enough, I'd actually finished writing this a little more than three months ago. But I was so busy that I never got around to sending it to my betas. My betas themselves were horrendously busy, so it was just a bad situation. So. I figured I'd do this all on my lonesome with some help from a couple people, and just upload it already. And here it is.

I can't promise that future chapters will be much more quickly written. My school's taking up most of my time, and, unfortunately, my life doesn't consist of fanfics. But I'll try, and that's really all I can promise. Enjoy!

* * *

Prologue

_We don't see things as they are.  
We see them as _we_ are. _

-ANAIS NIN

Song:

_The Eye of the Beholder—_Metallica.

_A love story._

For some reason, I cannot prevent myself from classifying this story as that; there seems to be no other suitable name. And, yet, I find that label lacking—being, on the one hand, far too general, and, on the other, far too specific. No doubt this _is _a love story, but it's more, too; there's friendship here, magic, hate, laughter—and most importantly, perceptions.

That's really what it comes down to. Perceptions. They can break or make us, are easy to create, and difficult to let go of. Often, I wonder how the problem itself—the solution to it—was so unbelievably simple. For two brilliant people, I could never quite comprehend how they didn't see it—for they never understood themselves, let alone each other. But that, I suppose, is unfair; after all, I was never in their position.

I guess that was what stirred me to start writing this. I needed to understand them, to _know _what they were actually going through. What motivated them? Why had they seemingly hated each other for so long?As simple as the questions sounded, the answers eluded me. _No_, I reasoned, _no. _They were Head Girl and Boy; they _couldn't_ have missed it.And, yet, astonishingly, they had.

To me, she was more fascinating, even from the start. She had a quality about her that drew people, that attracted them, being fiery, brilliant, smart, stubborn—and stupid, sometimes. He was interesting, too, but he struck me as overly perfect, at least on the surface. There was too much talent in him, and although he had his faults, they didn't seem to bother him as much as they bothered _her._

In fact, he bothered her like no one else. _That_ intrigued me, too. Why did he matter? There were many others like him, arrogant arses whom she barely glanced at. But James—no, the situation was much different there. Everything he said angered her; his insults struck her to her very core; she lost her composure with him more than with anyone else.

Of course, she affected him similarly, too, but his situation was a little different. In _his_ case, she was his obsession; he had fallen for her at the age of fourteen, and continued until late in his Sixth Year, when he gave up. In fact, their relationship grew worse _after_ he gave up. He was, after all, no longer someone who merely chased her, trying to please her with foolish antics that worsened her opinion of him; he became someone who _actively _tried to hurt her feelings.

But that is neither here nor there. The question is much simpler, I think:

_Who am I_?

To the dreamy-eyed, romantic reader, those who secretly fantasise about Prince Charming, who feel a thrill upon hearing a love story, live for romantic movies, adore Valentine's Day, I am Cupid. I am bringing together two people, destined, as they would say, to be with each other.

To the cynical, angry reader, secretly mad at the world, hating love and all its antics, I am a fairy-tale writer, a naïve optimist. They are the type who snort at seeing a couple kiss, predicting break-ups left and right. _What nonsense_, they say, rolling their eyes, sighing exasperatedly. _It's all overdone. Nothing's like that in the real world. There's _pain _in the real world._

To the practical, slightly more serious reader, I am something much different. I am an observer, a voyeur, a narrator of a story that isn't mine. Perhaps, even, this reader doesn't really care who I am. It only matters to them that I relate this story well, and that, of course, it will all be worthwhile in the end.

Who I am is somewhere in between all three. I like to think of myself as unimportant, a mere storyteller. The story that you will hear will not be exact; it, perhaps, will even be exaggerated and implausible on some points, but it is how I will write it, how I will put words to paper.

Curiously enough, I am related to James and Lily in no way. I am only their writer; they are real to me, yes, as they are real to other writers who use them in their stories, but there is no other relationship I share with them. But they are unique to me, special—I am sure there is no other writer—no other reader, even—who thinks of them as I do.

After all, beauty _is_ always in the eye of the beholder.

This story, then, is about that—

The eye of the beholder.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks to **taniita** and **Lu**.

Tani, you helped majorly; you're an angel!

And, Lu... We don't need to swell _your_ ego now, do we? Lol.Love you, pet.


	2. Chapter 1

**Title:**The Eye of the Beholder

**Summary:** We are not at fault, none of us. The blame lies with our perceptions—that which prejudices us from seeing what is the truth. Some people take minutes to learn this; others take lifetimes. For Lily Evans, however, it took a person: James Potter.

**Disclaimer:** I don't need to go over this drivel again. This is _obviously_ not my idea; I've stolen it from JK Rowling; I acknowledge and admit that.

**A/N:** blinks I really have no right to update after the horrendous delay between this chapter and the last. Truth is, I had updated on the other HP website I frequent, and forgot all about this. winces Anyway, here is Chapter 1! Chapter 2 coming your way next week. beams

**Chapter 1—A Letter Received**

_As I started to picture the trees in the storm, the answer began to dawn on me. The trees in the storm don't try to stand up straight and tall and erect. They allow themselves to bend and be blown with the wind. They understand the power of letting go. Those trees and those branches that try too hard to stand up strong and straight are the ones that break._

—JULIA BUTTERFLY HILL

Song:

_Everybody Hurts_—The Corrs

**An excerpt from a diary entry:**

_I clearly remember the first time Lily met James, and I can honestly say that, as far as I knew, she disliked him right from the start._

_I don't think I blame her for it. He was a bit of a pompous arse, James was—even at the young age of eleven. He boasted of his wealth, of his family's high position in society, of the privilege of being one of the Potters', one of the oldest pureblood families around. He was the only one of his generation, and, thus, the sole heir to the Potter fortune._

_In James's defense, however, he was extremely nervous that first day. He wanted friendship badly—I suspect being an only child was extremely lonely. I suppose then it was natural for him to reach out to people the only way he knew how: boasting._

_But Lily, being a Muggleborn, had no clue of any of this, of his history. Consequently—unsurprisingly enough—, during their first meeting, being the down-to-earth girl she was, she withdrew from him. She never said anything—she was never very good with conflict—but I imagine that she probably made a mental note to herself that James was of a bad sort._

_James might have been arrogant, but he was not stupid; he immediately sensed that Lily didn't like him and, as is normal with people who are disliked for reasons they know not of—you will remember that he was also very sensitive at that time—, James decided that he, too, did not like Lily Evans._

_—_Remus Lupin, aka Moony

* * *

Lily Evans gazed out at the Hogwarts grounds extending magnificently in front of her. She looked perfectly calm on the outside, as if she had merely decided to sit and relax a while; however, her mind was far away from Hogwarts, head burning as her thoughts ran wild. She felt stunned, only vaguely aware of the glorious view around her as she looked unseeingly around. A rough breeze tousled her auburn hair, and Lily propped her chin up, elbow resting snugly on her lifted knee. She was weary, tired of the day and all its antics. The paper clutched in her hand flapped at the wind, fluttering against her cloak.

Lily looked down at the noise. A corner of her mouth lifted in a humourless smile, and she lifted the paper to read the words so hurriedly scrawled. Papers were unusual here among witches and wizards—most preferred using parchments. The untidy words were written with a pen, another oddity in the magical world.

Lily shifted restlessly, trying to move to a more comfortable spot on the rock. It was hill-shaped—a slightly slanting top with triangular sides. She raised her eyes from the paper again, pausing to scan her surroundings. She was near the Forbidden Forest, though in view of the Castle. She looked at the windows of the Hogwarts Castle, and idly wondered if anyone was watching her.

_It isn't fair_, Lily thought angrily, her mind returning to the letter, frustration replacing her shock. Why did she and Petunia always fight? Why couldn't they have a relationship that other sisters had? Before she could stop them, tears leapt into her eyes, and she gazed back at the paper, back at the angry words that leapt out at her.

For the umpteenth time, Lily bent forward to read the letter.

_I've told you time and again not to write with that stupid owl. Have some consideration. Here, strangeness is not considered special; it is considered just that—STRANGE. Your affliction should not be forced into mine and Vernon's life, and we refuse to stand another moment of it._

_You know very well, Lily, that our relationship was over when you stepped into that world of yours. There is no point to forge bonds. I will never accept you and your life. Let me go on with my life, and you go on with yours. I request you to please stop writing me letters and to never contact me again. _

Lily felt her heart ache with sadness, and had to choke back the lump. It was obvious to her, though she tried not to notice, how cold the letter was. There was no friendly beginning, nor a 'Love, Petunia' at the end. Was it time to just give up the bond she had cherished long ago, much before Hogwarts?

She looked up, tears falling freely down her face, and she hugged herself tightly. Feeling bitter, sick of her relationship with her sister and everyone around her, she wondered, not for the first time, what the cause to her sister's animosity was. Even now, when Lily looked back, she couldn't remember the exact day that Petunia had changed. It had been a gradual thing, really.

Shaking her head, Lily forced herself to move on from her sister. What was the point of crying over something that had never really been there? Now that she thought about it, had she and Petunia _ever_ had a good relationship, or had it just been a part of Lily's imagination? She didn't know anymore…

She sighed, thinking of her workload, the paperwork that had accumulated over the first month of Hogwarts. The Slytherins had been worse than usual towards the Gryffindors because of a Muggleborn being appointed Head Girl. She had heard the word Mudblood enough in the past weeks to last her a lifetime. Intense pressure was being put on her from all sides to complete her school tasks as well as the ones she got from her posting. Lord Voldemort was causing terror in the world outside of Hogwarts, both in the magical and the Muggle.

Lily slid off the rock and strode forward, making her way to the Castle, determined not to indulge in self-pity. She climbed up the steps that lead to the huge doors and stepped in, hugging her books—and the letter—to her chest tightly. She blew out a breath at the intense warmth that met her. Feeling slightly comforted as she walked down the oh-so-familiar corridor, she relaxed her tense shoulders.

A shriek suddenly resounded and Lily jumped, startled. She pulled out her wand reflexively, dropping her things, and hurried down the hallways quickly, her shoes clicking loudly in the deserted corridors. She turned the corner and froze in her tracks completely. She watched, as if in slow motion, James Potter lift a still-shrieking Severus Snape in the air with his wand. A sudden rush of anger filled her veins. After all of the emotional torment she had just gone through, she felt as if she just needed to vent, get things off her chest, or she'd _explode_.

"Stop!" she shouted, hurrying forward and flicking her wand at Severus. He slowly descended to the floor, looking livid, his usually pallid face purple with suppressed rage. Lily glanced at Potter briefly and saw that he looked mildly taken aback—although not surprised—at seeing her. She frowned at him, turned back to Snape and said, "Go to the Hospital Wing. You're bleeding."

Snape shook his head and muttered, "No. I'm fine."

Lily opened her mouth to tell him that he was to go the Hospital Wing _now,_ but bit her lip. Past experiences with trying to tell Snape what to do had ended with very nasty results. She didn't particularly like him—he was incredibly rude to her about her heritage—but she felt a strong sense of pity towards him. He was tormented everyday by one person or the other, not only Potter and his friends, but almost by the whole Hogwarts population, albeit a few Slytherin friends. Lily had even seen a few first-years whisper behind their fingers when passing Snape, then sniggering. It was sad, really, she thought. Snape had to be suffering miserably, yet he made no effort to establish a bond with one of the few people offering him help. Pride, she guessed. Or a lack of trust.

"All right, then," she said, suppressing a sigh. "Go."

Snape left, hesitating a little, shooting glares at Potter and looking angry enough to do the _Avadra Kedavra_ curse on him. Lily turned back to Potter, face blank, and said, "20 points from Gryffindor."

He frowned at her. "That's not fair. We agreed on a set of points for this kind of behaviour. It was only 10 points, Evans."

"Don't you find it ironic," she said coldly, tucking her wand away, "that you only remember the rules when you can benefit from it?" Lily watched him open his mouth to protest, but she continued on, "I mean, doesn't that just _imply_ what sort of a role model you really are? My decision stands; I'm taking away 20 points due to the fact that you're Head Boy. You're supposed to set an example to the rest of the student body!"

It was a few moments before Potter responded, and Lily had the feeling that he had taken the time to get his temper under control. She noticed as well, with a smug satisfaction, that his jaw was ticking. _Good_, she thought, _it's about time someone set him straight_. "I set a fine enough example, Evans. And I still think it's unfair to take twenty points from me. Being Head Boy has nothing to do with breaking the rules. It's not the person that matters, it's the crime."

Lily raised an eyebrow, feeling strangely excited. It was like release, a blessed release. She wasn't just pouring out her frustration at his incompetence as a Head Boy, she was pouring out all the emotions that she had been feeling for the past few weeks into the conversation. "So you admit it's a crime? Although the knowledge that you're doing something wrong doesn't stop you from doing it anyway, does it? And twenty points it will be, final." She took a breath, and continued, "Just to clarify, since when have you set an example? _I _set an example! I do all the work as Head—your share as well, I might add—and I never break any rules! How is it that _you_ set an example?"

Potter smirked, and she felt her eyes burn with anger. "I teach them to have fun. You teach them to be serious. We balance each other out. Besides, I _do_ do my work as Head. I always finish my share of the reports and the patrols." He smiled, suddenly stepping closer to her. When he spoke again, she realized that he had dropped it into a low, husky tone. Revolted, she stared at him, frozen, as he breathed, "We make a wonderful pair, Evans. Like I said, we balance each other out perfectly." He ran his finger lightly up her arm and she stepped back in sheer horror and repulsion.

"Don't touch me!" Lily snapped, backing away a few steps. "I," she said, voice trembling with rage, "don't want to hear another peep out of you for another month!" She whirled on her heel, ignoring his laugh, loud and mocking, and hurried down the hallway, back to the corridor with her dropped books.

As she dropped to her knees to pick up her thrown things, she felt her throat choking in tears of frustration and anger. She hated him, every single particle of his very being. He would always do that—try to make her lose her wits by flirting with her. She knew why he did it—he was well aware that she hated him, and that flirting with her would make her tongue-tied with abhorrence. That crush he had had on her—Lily shuddered at the memory, thanking God it was over—a year or so ago was not an excuse because he _obviously_ still didn't harbour feelings for her.

Although Lily tried to pretend that her fights with Potter didn't bother her in the least, she was well aware that it was actually quite the opposite. Having this constant cross was extreme stress for her, and she hated the feeling of dread she would undergo every time he and his friends walked by. Potter had become too much of a problem for her, but she didn't quite know how to manage it anymore. Although, when had she ever managed it?

Lily strode towards the stairs, her books now secure in her arms, and tossed her head back. Shaking her head inwardly, she forced Potter from her mind; he was not worth her time.

He never would be, she vowed.


End file.
